Sunday, April 27, 2025 – Day 257

Sunday, April 27, 2025

Good morning, y’all!

This past Thursday, some of my Waukegan High School classmates—Chrissy, Carrie, and Cathy (the Three C’s)—came out to spend the day making Andy’s Army bracelets. It was a long trek for them; they all live in Lake County, near the lake.

Like me 20+ years ago, this group doesn’t travel west very often. Wauconda is far enough… no need to venture out to Crystal Lake—the edge of civilization.

Getting out here just isn’t easy—maybe on purpose. Back in 1839, the eastern part of McHenry County broke off in a messy split to form Lake County. A classic breakup: emotional, complicated, and judging by today’s tangled roads, still not totally healed. Maybe that’s why it feels like crossing an invisible border to get here. Okay… I made all that up—except for the 1839 part. I’m just glad the Three C’s made the day trip.

We spent the day camped out around the dining room table, boxes of beads everywhere, everyone working on whatever they felt like. Chrissy became the bead sorter, Carrie finished off the bracelets by adding the clasps, and Cathy tackled making them from start to finish. I didn’t mind hanging with the ladies one bit. Honestly, it just felt good to sit together, talking, laughing, keeping our hands busy. When it was all said and done, we had maybe 15 completed bracelets—and a whole lot of stories shared.

We took a break for lunch, and Carrie surprised me with homemade Do-si-dos. She must think I like them! They tasted just like the real thing—maybe even better. It’s amazing what you can find online these days. That recipe is a keeper for sure. We’re already down to one cookie, which pretty much says it all. Thank you, Carrie, for the cookies and for the recipe.

If you just glance at the bracelets, they might not look like much—just beads strung together. That’s probably what “old Andy” would’ve said, too. But now, I can’t help but see what’s behind them. Every bracelet carries a little piece of hope for a cure for ALS. Each bead is a memory—some old, some brand new—that stirs up a smile about the times we’ve shared. (Some of those memories should probably be boxed up and buried… this is a PG-13-rated blog and the kids are reading.) Most of all, these bracelets are a statement, a reminder of everyone who’s joined us on this journey, saying: you’re not alone—we’re here for you.

That means the world to us… thank you. Last year, on my birthday (August 15), just two days after the shitty diagnosis, Alex and Nicole, who flew in from D.C. came out to see me. They came to celebrate my 65th—and to show me they were all in for this journey. The emotions were raw. None of us wanted to believe it was true. When it was time for them to leave, I walked them out to their car in the Sew Hop’d parking lot. We hugged each other tight, tears running down our cheeks. Nicole said, “We’ve got your back.” I hugged them one more time, and then they drove off toward O’Hare. I turned and walked back to the brewery, wiping away tears, feeling so grateful for the amazing people they’ve become.

The next day—or not long after—Andy’s Army was born. At first, it was slow bringing people into this journey. Telling people the news was like ripping open the wound again and again. It’s impossible to casually tell someone you have ALS. No matter how you say it, it hits like a punch to the gut. It took months to get the word out. I must have relived the neurologist’s words a hundred times: “I think you have ALS…”

There are still people who don’t know. And for that, I’m sorry. It’s not because I don’t want to tell them—it’s just… this story is hard to tell.

And yet somehow, Andy’s Army has grown bigger and stronger than I ever could have imagined.

If you’d like a bracelet, reach out to Cindy—she’ll add you to the list. It gives us a reason to have more bracelet-making parties, to laugh and love. And who doesn’t want that?

Have a great Sunday.

Love you guys! ❤️